


Never Had a Friend Like Me

by Pun



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pun/pseuds/Pun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dinesh kept his eyes studiously on his screen, but he scribbled “Aladdin app. 3 wishes,” on the notepad next to his keyboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Had a Friend Like Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blithers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithers/gifts).



> Thank you so much to Sir Pun, Caro, Linaerys, and the Penguin for brainstorming. Extra special thanks to the Penguin who came up with all the best jokes.

“But I don’t want a mashed potato sculpture of Charlton Heston. I’ve never wanted one. What I want is for the SSL on Pied Piper to mount cleanly and not crash every time I open it in time for my meeting with Peter Gregory which is in two hours.” Richard was saying, his voice going into the high, nasal pitch that signaled an oncoming panic attack.

Gilfoyle did not seem the slightest bit concerned about Richard’s wishes, not even glancing up from carefully using the side of his fork to carve out mashed-potato Heston’s chiseled jaw. “Well I’ll let you know when I create an app that grants wishes. It’ll be called ‘Aladdin,’” he said sarcastically. 

“Um, Aladdin didn’t grant wishes. The genie did,” Jared said, but if either Richard or Gilfoyle heard him, they didn’t bother to respond. 

Dinesh couldn’t even fathom where Gilfoyle had found such a huge quantity of mashed potatoes at 6am. Certainly not in their fridge. 

He decided not to ask, though, instead keeping his eyes studiously on his screen, but he scribbled “Aladdin app. 3 wishes,” on the notepad next to his keyboard. The text was a little blurry, and his eyelids had a gummy feeling like they were sticking closed for an extra millisecond or so when he blinked. He was pretty sure the last time he’d slept was more than 36 hours ago, but he’d lost count. 

“Peter Gregory is only spending two days this month off of Arallon, and he agreed to devote one of them to Pied Piper. Do you realize what a big deal that is?” Richard had said this at least a dozen times in the last 24 hours, so it was easy to tune him out and consider. 

An algorithm that took the wish and then ran a search of the closest possible match, whether available commercially or related in some other way and then led you to that object could probably be coded in Perl. Of course most people would just wish to be rich and famous. And there probably wasn’t a code powerful enough to make that happen. Not yet, anyway. 

Just then Erlich came striding into the room. He was wearing his Jobs getup. The effect was somewhat ruined by the half-eaten, half-unfrozen burrito clutched in his right hand. 

He gave Richard a once over and said, “Not again with the hoodie over a button down. We have to do something about your look. I’m taking you to Round Robin.”

“No, Erlich, that won’t be necessary,” Jared said. “I’ve laid out an outfit for Richard to wear, and he’ll be changing into it upon arrival at Peter Gregory’s offices. And also, you look good in button downs,” he added to Richard as an aside. “Relaxed, but stylish.” 

“Wait a minute,” Dinesh said. This was too great an opportunity for ragging on Richard, even if it meant taking the risk of getting sucked into the conversation. “He actually full out dresses you now? Like he’s your mommy or something?”

“By choosing Richard’s clothes for him, I am saving him precious time and mental energy that is better spent on the continued development and management of Pied Piper.” Jared said, snippily. 

“Yeah, he’s just allowing space for my genius to flourish. Um, or, whatever” Richard trailed off as Gilfoyle looked up from the beginnings of what Dinesh suspected was going to be a mashed potato Dr. Zaius and pinned him with that incisive Gilfoyle focused stare.

“Also, this way if he vomits all over himself in the car it won’t matter,” Gilfoyle said.

“I do also have a backup outfit that I’ll be bringing with me in case he vomits mid-meeting,” Jared said.

“Wow,” Dinesh said. Because what else could he say to that? “But won’t it look weird if he comes back into the meeting in a diff—“

“Guys. Guys!” Richard said, cutting him off. “None of this is relevant to our SSL problem. Could we please just try to focus?”

*

“Tonight we’re going hard, hard ha-ha-ha-ard,” Kesha was singing. “Just like the world is ours.” Dinesh rolled over and slapped at his phone. The clock told him that he’d been asleep for ten hours. If he hadn’t set the alarm, he’d probably have slept at least another four, but that would mean eating breakfast around 8pm, and he’d wind up with his days and nights reversed, and then it sucked getting them switched back again. He’d learned that lesson too many times in college. 

Judging by how quiet the house sounded around him, Richard, Jared, and Erlich were probably still at the meeting. That was a good sign. He knew that Peter Gregory would kick Richard out within minutes sometimes when he wasn’t happy with the Pied Piper progress. 

Dinesh rolled onto his back and clicked into his email. His credit card payment was overdue, but they had all agreed to put their Pied Piper salary that month into getting a T1 line for the house, so he was just going to have to tough it out and pay the late fees. Jared had promised them all huge raises once they’d finished closing some of the offers they had on the table in the wake of Disrupt. 

There was an email from his mother about his cousin’s wedding the next weekend. She was marrying a podiatrist in Monterey, and his mother made clear that Dinesh had better be there dressed suitably and with a gift. Almost certainly there’d be at least three or four girls there she would spend the entire time unsubtly trying to arrange his own marriage to: girls with high collars and long skirts from good families who would expect Dinesh to stop fooling around and get a real job with regular hours and a steady salary and put a down payment on a house where he didn’t live with his coworkers. 

He clicked out of his email back to the home screen. He was about to play a few rounds of Dots when he noticed a new app he didn’t recognize. The icon was an image of an old-fashioned brass oil lamp with loopy text that said “Aladdin” underneath it.

Dinesh’s thumb hovered over the icon for a moment. “Gilfoyle, you Canadian fuck head, have you been screwing with my phone again?” he shouted even though Gilfoyle was almost certainly still asleep. He didn’t mind most of his waking hours falling during the nighttime. One of the many on Dinesh’s list of reasons why Gilfoyle was probably a secret vampire. 

Dinesh went ahead and tapped the “Aladdin” icon. 

The screen went black, and then green text, appearing one letter at a time as if it were being typed by an invisible hand spelled out: “Hello, Master. What is your first wish?”

The cursor blinked at Dinesh for a moment. He shrugged and tapped out “Hot chicks.”

The instantaneous chime of the doorbell made Dinesh jump. His heart was racing, and he was halfway to the door before he realized he wasn’t wearing any pants. By the time he made it back to the front door he’d realized that of course this was just a bizarre coincidence, but when he pulled the door open, he found himself face to face with a woman who looked like she had just come from a shift at Hooters. She was wearing bright orange short-shorts and a tiny pink tube top, and every inch of exposed skin was bronzed and flawless. Unfortunately, the view of her cleavage was somewhat spoiled by the large cardboard box that she was holding. 

“Are you Dinesh Chugtai?” She asked sweetly, flicking her waist-length dark brown hair over her shoulder.

“Uh, maybe?” Dinesh said uncertainly. He couldn’t help looking back into the house and straining to see over her shoulder for any signs of hidden cameras. 

“I have a delivery for Dinesh Chugtai. He does live here, right?” Before Dinesh could answer she pressed the box into his hands. “Can you give this to him? I have to get to my next delivery.”

Dinesh stared after her, watching her ass moving beneath the cloth of her shorts with each step as she got farther and farther away, and the chances of his thinking of some suave remark that would make her stay dwindled until they disappeared. 

A rustling noise drew his attention back down to the cardboard box that he was now holding in his hands. It was slightly larger and heavier than a pizza box, and there was definitely something moving inside of it. Possibly many somethings. 

Dinesh set the box down on the floor and warily lifted the lid. 

A chorus of chirping immediately greeted him. Inside the box several fluffy, yellow baby chickens hopped around in a bed of straw. 

“The hell?” Dinesh muttered while carefully reaching out two fingers to touch one of the baby birds. The feathers were the color of egg yolk, which was kind of funny when you thought about it, and were the softest, fuzziest thing Dinesh had ever touched. The chick was also undeniably warm, you could even say ‘hot,’ to the touch. 

Dinesh drew his hand back and said, “Okay, very funny, Gilfoyle. Ha, ha, you got me. Come out, come out wherever you are.” 

The house remained quiet around him except for the continued peeping of the chicks.

“Okay, fine. You know what? I guess that was pretty predictable. Let’s see you deal with this one,” Dinesh said, taking his phone out and opening Aladdin.

“Hello, master. Do you have a second wish?” scrolled across the screen. 

“I wish for World Peace.’” Dinesh typed into the phone. 

Again, Dinesh had no sooner hit the ‘e’ than there was an immediate chime from the doorbell.

More convinced than ever that there must be a recording device hidden in the room somewhere, Dinesh said, “What could you possibly need to deliver for world peace?” 

He pulled open the door. He was confronted with a wall of bright yellow Lakers jersey. “Hi, sorry to bother you,” the wall of shirt said. 

Dinesh had to tilt his head way back to look up into the face of the very tall owner of said shirt. 

“I’m really lost, and my phone’s battery just died,” the guy said. “I’m trying to find the golf course. It’s near here, right?”

Dinesh looked back down from the man’s face to the number 15 on his jersey, and then back into his face again.

“Oh my god,” Dinesh said as the realization dawned. “You’re Metta World Peace.”

“Yeah, look, I’m happy to sign an autograph and take a photo, or whatever, but could we make it quick? It’s just that I’m late for this charity auction, and I’m supposed to be one of the prizes.” 

Dinesh’s shoulders began to shake as he tried to stifle the laughter rising up in his throat. “Right. Sure you are,” he said. “You just happened to be in this neighborhood, and just happened to come to my door the moment I wished for—“ another, bout of laughter convulsed Dinesh’s throat. He held his hand over his mouth, but he couldn’t completely stop the sounds from escaping. They were starting to sound hysterical even to him. With great effort he managed a couple calming breaths and said, “Come on. Just tell me. How did Gilfoyle get you to do this?”

“I don’t know anyone called Gil Foil,” World Peace said. He was looking down at Dinesh and doing the hands up, slow step back thing that was the universal method for walking away from a crazy person. “How about I just go ask one of your neighbors, okay?”

Unable to speak again, Dinesh just made a dismissive hand gesture. “Nice to meet you, Mr. World Peace,” he managed to call out, just as World Peace was closing the door of his sleek, yellow sports car. 

Dinesh slammed the front door and stomped his way down the hallway to Gilfoyle’s room. 

“Gilfoyle, this isn’t fucking funny. Open up,” he said pounding on the door. When there was no response, he turned the handle and walked in.

The room was empty. Gilfoyle’s bed was neatly made, and there weren’t any clothes on the floor or books on the night table. The room looked as if Gilfoyle hadn’t been there in months. 

Dinesh shivered as he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. This was starting to get creepy.

He took his phone out of his pocket, meaning to call someone, Gilfoyle, maybe, or even his mom, but when he activated the screen, “You have one wish remaining, Master,” was there blinking at him.

“No, no, no. Fool me once,” Dinesh said. His thumb hovered over the home button. But. Well . . .

“I wish for a billion-dollar idea.” Dinesh typed out quickly. Before he could think better of it. 

The doorbell didn’t ring. There were no choirs of angels and lightning didn’t strike. Everything remained silent and still around him. 

Dinesh looked back down at his phone where he realized text was scrolling across the screen. Pages and pages of code going by almost faster than Dinesh could interpret it, but he could see that it was sleek and tightly-written, the kind of coding that you could fall in love with. The kind of code that Dinesh loved to write. The kind of code that . . . that could only be described as a “middle out” lossless compression algorithm. 

“Fuck you, Gilfoyle. Fuck. You,” Dinesh shouted and threw his phone across the room. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

*

“Dinesh. Dinesh, wake up.”

Slowly, Dinesh became aware of Gilfoyle shaking his shoulder. The side of his face hurt where it was mashed into his keyboard, and his mouth felt dry as sand.

“Huh?” Dinesh managed to ask intelligently as he pushed himself upright.

“You were talking in your sleep. I think you were asking me to fuck you,” Gilfoyle said with an annoying smirk.

“Shut up, Gilfoyle, I was not,” he said. Gilfoyle easily dodged Dinesh’s attempt to punch him in the arm. 

He was about to follow up when a sort of eerie feeling took him. Gilfoyle. “There was something,” he said, uncertainly. Gilfoyle had said something or done something. Dinesh chased a fleeting feeling, the word “genie” flashed in his mind, but that didn’t make any sense. 

Dinesh shook his head, letting go of the feeling. 

“Come on,” he said. “I’m going to kick your retard Canadian ass at GTA.”

“No fucking way,” Gilfoyle said, diving for his controller.

Dinesh booted up the play station and grabbed his own controller. There were a couple tiny yellow feathers clinging to it which he blew aside with a quick puff of his breath.


End file.
